No Regrets

Chapter 3

     Dad opened the door and walked in shouting, "Rossetta! Rossetta! Dinner!"

     Mom ran out of her room, just finishing taking a shower and getting into her pajamas. "Sit down, I'll get you dinner!" She ran into the kitchen and quickly filled the plate with grilled chicken, rice, and steamed carrots. Serving the plate, she sat next to him; dad loved to eat with someone, otherwise he would get mad and annoyed. Screaming how rude we were to leave him sitting alone, "If I knew you two would be disrespectful pricks, I would have never married you and had Margaret!" He would scream from across the house when we let him eat on his own. The house would shake, and I would freeze, only being able to move my head to stare at his direction. 

       Mother would close her eyes and flinch, afraid to go back to the dining room and sit next to him. But she would be forced to do it in order to stop him from being so angry. She would mentally prepare herself to sit next to such a frightening man.

     He smiled and grabbed a fork, cutting into the chicken with the steak knife and putting it in his mouth. Mom looked at him with a fake smile while tense, hoping everything went right. His eyebrows furrowed and he spit out the chicken, "It's fucking cold! Why would you serve me something cold? God, you're so useless."

     Mom tried so hard to keep the fake smile and tried to keep her tears inside herself. Standing up and taking it, a tear came out and she quickly faked a yawn. "I'll heat it up in the microwave."

     "Reheating is for indolent people who choose not to cook. Heat it on the stove, over a flame, like a good wife should."

     Mom did so, taking longer than it would have to use the microwave. And dad was not patient, he became enraged and began shouting nonsense. 

     Everything began to turn gibberish, and quickly the apartment became the condo mother and I live in today. Then, my room as my brain began to wake itself up and process the fact that we were sleeping in my room.

     "Wake up Maggie. Maggie, wake up," dad began to say as my brain moved back to the apartment. But, his rage turned to whispers. Odd, I thought. That wasn't dad at all.

     He touched my shoulder and rubbed it, "Wake up!"

     I opened my eyes, confused as to what was happening. The light was turned on and father faced me, "Finally you're awake. It took a good while." He looked at my terrorized face, "Are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?"

     I sat up, and looked at father, then answered his question, "I had a nightmare about dad, about Liam. He was shouting at mom for serving him cold food."

     "Did your dad shout at mom for that often?" He asked me with a concerned expression. At my age, I couldn't tell that his expression was fake. That he already knew the answer to his own question. 

     I nodded, "It was every night. He would find something to hate about and then shout at her. Sometimes he would get really mean and start hitting her. I can't remember how, but I knew he would hit her. I used to walk into her room and see her crying, she would have blood on her face, and she would smile at me. Telling me to go back to my room, she would get me ready for bed soon." Telling that story made me realize I had been forgetting. I swear I could remember seeing dad hit her and I swear I remembered mom crying on the floor when he would hit her too hard. She would stare at me with swollen eyes and tears on the floor. But now that I was trying to tell father, I couldn't remember. Everything was becoming a blurry memory. 

       I smiled slightly, was this a good thing? I was forgetting because I was happy with mother and father now. I finally had father, a kind father who would never do anything to hurt me. Who would give me all his attention and never raised his voice at me. It felt like a weight had been lifted off my chest. Now everything would be better, it would be good. I would grow up in a happy and safe environment.